


Bad Pets

by PleaseCallMeDarkblade



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Animals, Bath, Cat, Collar, Collars, Cute, Dog - Freeform, Funny, Humor, Hybrids, Leather, M/M, Naughty, Ownership, Pet, Pet-play, Petplay, Pets, Pony Play, Rescue, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Weird, animal - Freeform, neko, pony - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-01 00:42:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8600347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PleaseCallMeDarkblade/pseuds/PleaseCallMeDarkblade
Summary: The men purchase human-animal hybrids to be their obedient companions but with the good comes the bad as they find their pets are not as well behaved as they had hoped for.





	1. Damn Cat

“Mrow?” 

“Don’t you dare.”

“Mrrrrow.”

“Don’t you fucking do it!”

“Maaaooooow~”

“Oy, I said NO-!”

The porcelain figurine of some sad eyed child falls off the kitchen table and onto the tile floor to shatter into a million glittering pieces. Mr. Mundy slaps the newspaper down on the table where he been trying to enjoy his morning coffee. His pet had decided that he was not getting nearly enough attention. The genetically modified boy with the ears and tail of a cat but the body of a teenager sits perched on his kitchen table happily cleaning his hands with his tongue. When Mundy ordered this pet he had expected the best traits of human and feline and to the pet’s credit he could be quite the nice companion but there were times when he drove Mundy up the God damn wall. 

Somedays he feels like he forked over thousands of dollars to buy a 130 pound alarm clock and eating machine. 

“I reckon you want me to clean that up for you, huh?” He slides the chair back and walks over to where the broom and dust pan are stored. While he is scraping the porcelain pieces into the pan the cat sprawls over his newspaper and dangles a hand off the edge to playfully bat at his hair.

“Stop that. I’m cleaning up your mess.” 

As he is bent over he feels the blunt claws on the boy’s nails gently rake through his hair from above. The cheeky furball.

 

He had expected a meekly serving pet who crawled after him, obeyed his every command, and helped warm his bed at night. In the advertisement there was a picture of a submissive ‘Scout’ class feline, the handsome human hybrid who pouted and cowered as if afraid of the photographer. Genetically bred and raised to be the perfect companion. He had wanted something like that but instead he got…

“You little shit.” Standing up with the filled dustpan he frowns down at the hybrid who now rolls belly up on the newspaper and smirks at him in that satisfied fashion. He can hear a faint rumbling sound of the boy purring. With his free hand he reaches out to stroke the brown hair between the boy’s ears only to have that face turn and nuzzle on his hand.

“You’re lucky I always hated that figurine. Mum gave it to me years ago and I never could get rid of it.” He leaves the cat to empty then put away the pan and broom.

All the ‘Scout’ class felines had the same name, the same as their class, to make training them at the facility easier. It would require too much effort and time to try teaching him a new name so the name stayed etched in the shiny copper nape tag that dangles from his blue collar. 

“Get off my paper.” The boy bats at his hand when he comes back to his spot where he had been sitting at the table. “No, off.” He snaps his fingers at him and Scout’s ears perk up. “Scout. OFF.”

Reluctantly the Scout gets up and leaps off of the table top, his ears lowered and his lower lip stuck out in a pout. “That’s more like it.” Finally he can sit down and enjoy his morning coffee on his only day off of the week. He is lost in an article talking about the political situation in Russia when he hears an odd sound.

His first thought is to find the Scout but the room is empty aside from himself. There it is again! The strange warbling cry the cat-boy makes right before he pukes. It’s coming from the bedroom.

“No!” He jumps to his feet, the chair falling back on the floor, and takes off down the hall to the bedroom. The Sniper all but sprints to his room but finds he is too late.

There, kneeling on all fours on the bed is Scout paused with his left hand frozen midway through pawing the white sheets over a pile of sloppy wetness puked up right in the middle of the pristine bed. His eyes are wide as he stares back at Mundy as if he had not expected to get caught in the act. His tail low and lightly twitching at the end.

Then like a startled wild animal Scout takes off faster than anyone with the body of a human should be able to go while on all fours. He scampers into the bathroom to hide in his usual spot in the empty tub behind the curtain. 

“Fucking useless pest.” The sight of regurgitated cat food isn’t as bad as the smell. My god the smell! Like fish, stomach acid, and the horror of past lives all combined together. Mundy nearly gags as he pulls off all the bedsheets and carries them to first shake the puke out in the backyard and then to stuff them into the washing machine. This seems like a two- no three Tide Pods load. He seethes the entire time as he gets the machine loaded then started before finally going to look for his Scout.

The scrawny little beast hadn’t left the bathtub. Mundy could hear him snorting as he groomed himself behind the curtain. He makes sure to walk softly into the bathroom then close the door behind him to shut off any escape routes. The sounds of grooming stop as Scout hears the door click closed. 

He freezes as Mundy shoves the shower curtain back to reveal the casually reclining hybrid looking up at him with wide blue eyes.

“Mow?”

“Now you’ve gone and made me mad, boy.”

Scout puts his hands on the edge of the bathtub to try and slip out but a firm hand on his collar yanks him back into the tub.

“Oh no you don’t!” 

The boy gives a yelps as he is pushed back. He scowls up at the Australian and his fluffy tail flicks from side to side. 

 

“Oh yes, now you’re going to get it.” Mundy starts rolling up shirt sleeves. The cat sits there with a grumpy expression but when the water gets turned on he nearly explodes into action. He leaps up and nearly makes it out of the tub but that firm hand grabs him by his collar and yanks him back down. Leaping gets him nowhere but he keeps trying it as the warm water around his feet begins to rise.

“Maaaaaooww!” He begs in a pitiful voice.

“Nope, you’re getting a bath.”

Eventually Scout surrenders as he sees his thrashing and escape attempts get him nowhere. He slowly bends his legs to sink into the water as Mundy adds some scented bubble bath to it. Baths. He HATED baths.

He sighs as warm water is filled up around him and is eventually turned off and he is almost buried in a sea of bubbles. 

“Ah don’t look so miserable.” Mundy splashes some water on Scout’s head so the boy grumbles and shakes his ears off. An hour later the sniper emerges from the bathroom with a squeaky clean cat-boy wrapped in towel burrito in his arms.

The pet submitted to being toweled off with the fluffy fabric but as soon as the bed is in his sights he kicks out of Mundy’s arms and springs lithely into the clean bedsheets. He grabs his tail between his hands and starts licking it.

“You better not make any more messes for me.” He chastises the animal while peeling off his soaking wet shirt and tossing it into the dirty clothes bin. The boy huffs in reply and scowls over at him. Scout would remember this transgression.


	2. Damn Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medic has a bad dog. Some Soldier x Engineer pairing and some Medic x Heavy pairing.

The brown gelatinous glop splatters into the red plastic dish with a wet ‘splat’. It smells of gravy and meat.

“Eat up, liebling.” The German steps back from the dish with an endearing smile down at his dog. The dog, A Soldier class, wags his thick golden retriever tail as he turns his eyes up his beloved Master. The German turns to throw the dog food can away but as soon as he looks back around he sees the dog food dish is empty. Licked clean. Soldier softly whines up at him with eyes begging for more food.

“Why do you act as if you are starving? You will eat me out of house and home at this rate.”

The dog replies with an enthusiastic bark that makes his furry ears flap. They were called Soldier class because they were supposedly well trained enough to be used as tough working hybrids in the military. Well once their helmet was on, anyways. When the helmet is on they know they are working and must behave as such but when it is off they can relax. Like now.

“You will have to wait until lunch time to get anything else to eat.” The Master walks out of the room so the dog is left behind, sitting at the food dish with a puzzled look. Soldier whines a little more before casting a farewell glance at his empty food dish. He reluctantly follows his owner into the living room when a familiar tinkling sound makes his ears perk up.

Leash! Leash! He has a leash in his hands!

Soldier’s mood does a breakneck turn around at the mere sight of the shining blue leash in his master’s hands. He dances over to wiggle and prance around his owner with glee. The German man smiles at him but this does not last long as the canine hybrid gets over enthusiastic.

“No! No jumping! Off!” That human face with the tongue lolling out and a stupid grin showing never failed to brighten up the German’s day off. “Sit, siiit!” He commands the beast and Soldier quickly slaps his firm naked ass to the floor. It’s clear he can hardly contain his excitement for his daily walk from his nonstop wagging tail. 

He master clips the leash onto Soldier’s collar and the hybrid immediately stands up on all fours and starts pulling him to the apartment entrance. 

 

“Oh no you don’t!” The German yanks the leash hard enough to make the hybrid cough and stop to look back at him. “It is snowing out there and you are naked! What will the neighbors think? Do you want to freeze your testicles off?” Master tsks and shakes his head. “Stay here. Soldier. Stay!” He commands with a hand held up in front of Soldier’s face. 

Soldier cocks his head to the side as he listens and obeys. Master drops the leash and goes into his room as the dog sits by the door, looking baffled about why Master got him all ready for walkies then left him there but Master is not gone for too long! He returns with what Soldier recognizes as his own special clothes.

The German man carries the carefully folded sweater of jolly red color with white and golden stripes and the green design of a Christmas tree on the back. He also carries with him soft overalls, some durable underwear, leather boots, gloves, and a hard helmet to top it off. All specially made for a canine hybrid of his size.

The man kneels down on the floor and pulls out the sweater from the pile, “Alright first is the shirt.” He pulls the head hole in the sweater open and moves towards Soldier but the dog has other plans. In a swift movement the dog has the sweater in his mouth and is tugging on it with his whole body wiggling in his excitement. 

“Ack! Nein Nein! You will rip it! Or worse, stretch it out!” Master tugs back on the shirt equally hard which only makes the game better. Soldier leans down on his arms with his rump in the air and gives a play growl up at the German. The sweater is pulled taunt by the play and soon Master lets go. Soldier shakes the sweater viciously with it held between his teeth to make sure it is good and dead.

He looks back up at Master with happy eyes. Master has that look on his face that he gets when he is not happy. Maybe he wants to play some more? He reaches for the sweater and Soldier lets him get close enough to almost grab it in his hand but before he can the dog takes off running across the room.

He hears Master growl and yell something in that foreign language of his before giving chase. Now this is playing! Soldier waits until Master is close then once again tears off across the room and jumps in the couch with his naked butt up in the air and a big goofy smile on his face. 

They run around the living room like this for a while until Soldier is sure that Master has had enough fun and settles down on the rug in front of the fireplace with the drool soaked sweater between his hands. His breathing coming in happy panting and he sees Master is also panting but still frowning. Master’s black hair is messy and his glasses hanging by one ear and he should be happy from all that fun. There just isn’t any pleasing these humans!

Master takes the sweater away from him, grabs the end of his dangling leash, then stops off to the bedroom while all but dragging Soldier with him. 

He picks out a navy blue sweater than was made of sheep wool and always itched Soldier. To top it off it has tiny golden bells all over it that jingle when he walks. How humiliating! He whimpers as Master shoves it onto his body and pulls his arms through the sleeves. “Well if you had behaved you could have worn your new soft shirt. This will have to be your punishment.”

They walk back to the living room where the pile of clothes waits, jingling all the way. Eventually he is wrestled into the clothes but as Master tries to buckle the straps of the coveralls Soldier covers his face in wet licks. After some grumbling and pushing everything is buckled, tucked, tied, and ready to go.

“One last thing..” Master gets the helmet in his hands and just the sight of it is enough to make Soldier obediently sit down. The helmet is put on without incident. 

“Alright finally we are ready.” Master takes up his leash and opens the door to the snowy outside world, brilliant in the morning sunlight. As much as Soldier wants to gallop around at the end of his leash he knows with his helmet on he must behave. He obediently heels beside Master, his gloves and boots crunching in the fresh snow that had fallen last night.

People walked regular dogs past them without a second glance and they even passed some other hybrids, one being a grumpy cat with an even grumpier Australian man. All the hybrids bundled up against the cold with their natural mostly hairless bodies unable to keep them warm. 

Soldier and Medic walk briskly down their usual route into the city where Master likes to stop and stare at the brightly lit shop windows. They pass by the police station and then to their favorite shop where tiny baby hybrids play in front window just waiting to be bought. Soldier presses his nose to the cold glass as a small puppy Soldier class on the other side of the glass does the same. He wags his tail and the pup puts his fat hands on the glass and yips at him. Master chuckles and they walk on. Sometimes they stop inside the shop and the store owner gives him a treat but not today. It is a fun walk where he tastes so many smells in the air! 

 

They round a corner that will take them on the loop back him with a dreadful stench assaults Soldier’s nose. He stops dead in his tracks in front of a dark alleyway where the stench rolls out of. Master tells him to come on and gives a light tug on the leash but Soldier remains planted, squinting into the dark alley with his tail raised up in warning. 

He lifts his head and sniffs the air deeper that before, the smell of urine and grime washes over him as the wind brings the horrid scent down the alley. Suddenly a dark form lurches out of a pile of trash and cardboard boxes, the smell around them growing stronger as it moves up from its bed of filth. The beast’s eyes reflect the dim light as it leers at them, hunched over with a not quite human body and a long shaggy tail with patches of fur missing all over it, ragged perked ears shredded from many fights. Tatters of rank clothing flutter over his body. 

 

A stray hybrid!

 

Soldier lets out a deep growl at it and pushes his body in front of Master’s as he stares down the stray. The other lets out a savage snarl back to him and Soldier can smell the sickness in the stray’s breath. It’s a large male with hunger carved rips, skin covered in dried muck, over black grown claws from poor grooming. The stray snarls again and lurches towards them. 

Master is tugging frantically on his leash, trying to get him to flee but Soldier knows if they turn away now the stray will take that as invitation to attack them from behind. He plants first his hands braced apart and then his feet, his head down low as he glares at the stray right in his sunken eyes. The stray raises his tail up like a flag as he stiffly walks to soldier, stopping only a few feet away with his yellow teeth bared, his own thin body braced apart in a combat pose that mimics Soldiers. 

They stand like this a moment roaring and snarling at each other as each canine dares the other to attack first. 

To the German man the stay looks like a starved Heavy or some mutated Scout class or even a crossbreed or some other types, with his tangled mop of dark hair it is impossible to tell. He keeps tugging on the leash but Soldier is rock solid at the end of it. The stay slowly inches closer so he is in striking range and the German can see saliva dripping from his mouth. Patches of his exposed skin showed signs of frostbite from the cold and he almost feels pity for the homeless creature, that is if he wasn’t so afraid of being viciously mauled by it. 

Soldier holds his ground as the stray is face to face with him, both males nearly roaring with their battle-cries. 

The muscles on the stray’s back bunch up under his tattered clothes as he readies to pounce and Soldier can smell Master’s fear stink behind him. He wishes he could tell Master that he would never let this stray hurt him! He braces his body for impact when the sound of hurried footsteps behind them makes him twitch an ear backwards. 

The stray growls low and backs up a few feet. Soldier looks up to find another canine hybrid beside him. A handsome Engineer class, named for their high intelligence that made them the geniuses of the hybrid world. Holding the Engineer’s leash is a very large Russian man who yells at the stray and throws a soft snowball at him. The stray half whines half growls at them as he steps backwards. The bundled up Engineer tugs at his leash and lets out a brave volley of barks at the stray and Soldier adds his own deep woofs to the warning. 

The stray keeps backing away from them, baring his teeth then when he nears the end of the alley he turns and scampers out far from the pets. Soldier stomps his hands on the cold ground and snorts to rid his nose of the disgusting stray smell. 

The Engineer beside him is a handsome little hybrid with red merle border collie ears and a long fluffy tail that sticks out from his pants, now wagging in his shared victory of scaring the bad dog away. Soldier feels his own golden tail wagging in response as he looks at the shorter male. While the sniff and get to know each other he hears their Master’s speaking.

“Are you alright?” The big Russian asks the German.

“I- Yes, I am fine.” Master clears his throat and replies. 

“You are shaking.”

“I am… I am a little shook up from that.” Master admits while wrapping his arms around himself.

“I know a café nearby we can go to catch our breath. A hot drink might do you come good.”

Later as their masters enjoy steaming coffee at the outdoor tables their pet hybrids lay together on the ground at their feet, curled up in mutual warmth and friendship. 

Soldier thinks this was a good walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank the people who left kudos and comments on this story. I appreciate each and everyone one I get. Without your encouragement these stories would just be mushy ideas left rotting in my head. If you liked these stories and you would like me to continue adding more to this collection please send me a kudo or something. Thank you.


	3. Damn Stray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heavy/Misha attempts to tame the alley stray and find out more about him, with the help of Medic/Kuhlbert.

Misha makes sure he has his thick slip leash and his large of many different dog treats with one type being 100% chicken jerky treats before stepping outside his home.

His Engineer class hybrid, was left over at his new German friend’s house to have a playdate with his Soldier pet. The Engineer hybrid and the Soldier took to each other like best friends. The Russian chuckles as he thinks about how well the two canines got along playing and tussling together. Maybe there would even be puppies in the future for them.

And he has to admit it is nice to have a reason to visit his new friend, Kuhlbert, some more. As it turned out the German is a local veterinarian and with their recent discussion at the café they had talked about the stray from the alley. What a pity that someone had abandoned the creature to such a harsh situation.

Hybrids bond deeply to their first owners, similar to how a hatchling goose bonds with who it thinks is its mother. There are many stories of an owner having an untimely death and their pet hybrid winding up dead a short time later from what can only be explained as a broken heart. According to Misha’s new German friend “They stop eating, they stop drinking. They literally let themselves die because they cannot imagine going on without their master.”

There are other hybrids who are able to take on a new master but it took time. If somehow that stray could make it through his initial breaking of the bond with his former master then he must be one tough mutt. A tough boy who doesn’t need to be out in the cold where he is both a danger to himself and civilians, they had agreed. 

Back in Russia he had spent his time catching and taming stray dogs. Everyone had said it was a waste of time and that he would get bitten, and he did end up getting bitten. A lot. But he also was able to tame and save many dogs and puppies that would have frozen to death in the harsh winters. That made all the pain worth it.

It was colder today than before and a fresh blanket of snow had fallen over night. 

It didn’t take him long to find the dim alley where the stray camped out. It was by an abandoned store in the part of town where teenagers hung out to skip school during the week. As Misha stops at the entrance of the alley he is disappointed to find only a dark pile of trash pressed up against the brick wall. Something in the pile moves. It takes his eyes a moment to make sense of what he is looking at before he realizes he is seeing the stray, curled into a shivering ball with his matted tail over his face.  
He’s shivering too hard to notice there is someone in his alley. Misha makes it halfway to him when he steps on a frozen puddle which crackles under his weight. Those ragged ears twitch then there is a rumbling growl as the stray slowly lifts his head up. The smell hits Misha like a wave, urine and body odor and a cocktail of many horrible things so intense he fights back a gag. Matted dark hair hangs down across his face. 

The stay looks surprised to have been snuck up on and waste no time jumping up to all fours. He looks like he is wearing some heavily decayed boots on his feet but on both his big toes poke through holes. He snorts at Misha and then snarls with his teeth bared. 

Misha takes out one the chicken treats and holds it up to show the beast. He mummers in a low, comforting voice then lightly tosses a treat to the stray. The male must have been ravenous because after a quick sniff he devours the treat in a few fast bites. He is given a few more treats but every time he sees the Russian moving he begins growling, again.

This display does not deter the Russian as he pulls out the thick but soft slip leash and pulls the loop through it to form a makeshift lasso. His first throw misses, sliding uselessly off the stay’s shoulder which makes the beast rear up with a furious snarl. The animal lunges at Misha but stops a few feet away, a false charge meant to intimidate but he is still too cautious to do an outright attack on the big man. He is close enough that the second time Misha does not miss. 

As the rope tightens around his neck the stray balks with his head low and leans back so the leash is pulled taunt. He looks frightened and suddenly cowed by being roped, as if recalling something similar back in his past. He is shivering more now but not all of it is from the chill.

Misha squats down, “Easy easy. I am not going to hurt you.” The stray’s tail is tucked down between his legs but his ears lift up a little at the soothing voice. “There’s a good boy… Just what are you? I don’t recognize that face for any class..” He tosses more treats to the stray and they are gone almost as soon as they touch ground. Not too scared to eat.

It takes nearly an hour but with treats and calm talking he is able to coax the stray into letting him touch his scarred body. The creature is overly thin with his spine and ribs clearly visible through the tatters of wet clothes that billow in the icy wind. Eyes like hollow pits in his head that seem narrowed constantly. Teeth in need of brushing, claws in such dire need of trimming they appear more like talons, frostbitten patches of exposed skin, what looks like mange on his tails and ears. The poor beast is a mess. 

He whines and jerks his head away as Misha tries to gently rub one ear. Possible ear infection. The beast stands there with his back hunched in cold and one filthy hand pulled close to his chest as it he might try to take off running despite the rope on his neck. Up close like this the Russian man can see that the stray is not as large as he thought he had been, now that he is not puffed up and posturing for dominance. He is still a good sized brute despite his hunger ravaged body.

Slowly Misha rises up to stand and takes a step away from the stray. “Come. Walk.” He gently commands. They stray hesitates so he pats his hand on his pants to encourage the hybrid closer. It works and slowly the stray crawls up to him then looks up at Misha, meeting his gaze and giving his mangy tail a quick wag. “Good boy.”

It takes three times as long as it would have with a well trained hybrid and near the end of the walk the stray cuts one of his bare hands on a patch of glass sharp ice. As soon as Misha sees the bloody handprints trailing them he leans down and scoops up the beast in his arms like he is a tiny puppy. The stray yelps and squirms around at first but eventually he gives into the warm embrace and allows himself to be carried the rest of the way.

Misha knocks on the door to his German friend’s apartment. He grins a little as he hears the combined barks of his own Engineer and his friend’s Soldier from behind the door. He hopes their playdate went well. There is shuffling from behind the door and then it is pulled open to show Kuhlbert looking shocked to see Misha holding the living pile of filth in his arms.

“You brought it HERE?!” He says in an alarmed tone. Behind him no dogs can be seen but Misha hears the Soldier rumble protectively from where ever he is put away. The Russian manages a shrug and cannot help but smile as he recalls his mother having the same reaction anytime he brought home yet another stray puppy.

“He has some medical problems. I thought that since you were a vet you could.. help?” The stray in his arms has his ears pulled back and eyes squeezed shut as he buries his face on Misha’s chest.

The German pushes his glasses up on his nose then sighs. “Come in.”

The Russian hesitates. “Are the dogs put up?”

“They are barred in the living room with the baby-gates put in place.”

Hearing this Misha can feel safe entering the home and hopefully avoiding any dog fights. Kuhlbert shuts the door and follows after him, “Please take him into the bathroom. I can do an exam on him while he is in the tub. Then we can bathe him. Ack that smell!”

The stray does not like the slippery cold metal of the tub and he huddles down in a frightened ball as soon as he is lowered into it. Misha runs a hand over his matted, dark hair while whispering soothing words to him. His tail gives the smallest of wags but he does not uncurl. Soon the German joins them with a black bag of medical tools. 

“He jerks his head when I touch his ears.” Misha informs him, moving over to allow his friend greater access to the hybrid.

“I would not be surprised to see if he has an ear infection- Hold him still, please.” The German gently takes one dirty ear and brings his nose very close to it while Misha holds the stray by the shoulders. “Yeasty, yes.” He smells the other ear. “Miraculously this one is not infected but it is on its way. See how red it is in here?”

Misha nods as he looks at the inflamed ear, not as red as the clearly infected one is but getting there. He remains silent as the examination continues. “Lets see his eyes-Pink! How very strange.. Pink irises. I wonder if.. No..” It is true, now that Misha looks he can see the stray’s eyes are an unusual pink colored. “Can you get him up on all fours for me?”

Misha puts a hand under the belly of the stray and does as he is told. “Thank, Misha. Now lets listen to his heart..” He pushes some of the tattered shirt on the stray aside to place the end of his stethoscope on his rips. “His heart sounds healthy.” He cleans off the stethoscope then puts it back in his back. “Alright here comes the part he will not like. Hold him tight and do not let go.” He pulls out the rectal thermometer and a small tube of lubricant. 

Misha hugs the stray by his shoulders while keeping the hand under his belly as the German prods a cautious finger on the beast’s asshole. Alarmed, the stray snarls and thrashes around but he is too weak and exhausted to escape Misha. The thermometer slips into his rectum as a frigid and wet intruder. He throws back his head and howls at the top of his lungs. It is a haunting sound that reminds Misha of the lonely howls of northern wolves back home in Russia. 

This sets the dogs to barking and running around in their confined area. By now they can smell an intruder as well as hear him and the frustration of not being able to get to him is setting them on edge.

“Ack, I think I am slightly deaf in one ear, now.” Kuhlbert complains as he slides the thermometer out and squints at it. “A bit on the high side but nothing outrageous, probably caused by the infection in his ears.” He stands up to wash it off in the sink. 

“What about the frostbite?” Misha questions.

“Unless you see any bad places on him that I did not then it looks like the frostbite is mild enough that he should be alright.”

“And the mange on his tail and ears?”

“That looks more like flea allergy to me than mange, he is practically more parasite than dog. But tomorrow you should bring him to my work and I will do a skin scraping on him. I should also have some medicine set out for him as well. With some wormers and antibiotics he should be a new dog in a few weeks.”

He opens his sink cabinet then takes out some flea and tick shampoo that is a deep green color. While he is getting the soap Misha is carefully peeling off what is left of the stray’s tattered clothes and throwing them in to a pile to be trashed. Some hardly even resembled clothes anymore. He takes a moment to take out the nail clippers he had brought with him and trims the dirty claws, the beast accepts this as if he is used to nail trimmings.

“What breed do you think he is?” Misha asks while slowly turning on the bathwater to a nice lukewarm heat. The stray, who is now freed of the hands holding him, scuttles to the end of the tub away from the water as if it is hot lava.

“It is likely that he is just some home bred mongrel that was dumped in the city when he had no more use.”

“But his eyes.. ”

“Yes.. That is strange to see irises that color.” The German returns to them with a puzzled look. He pours a small glob of shampoo onto his hand then dips it into the ever rising tub water. He massages the water and soap onto the tip of the stray’s uninfected ear. “Astounding.”

Misha is just as surprised to see the filth giving way to the soap and underneath is light colored fur. Very light colored. The German rubs and rubs and the dirt continues to come off of the small area until it leaves a path of snow white fur. “He is white!”

“An albino.” The German gently corrects him, “I feared this. Misha, my friend, I think we might as well not waste out time and effort on such a beast.”

“What is wrong with his color?”

“It is not his color so much as what his color means. There is only one breed that are albinos and now that I look at his conformation I can see he matches it even as ragged as his state is.”

“What breed could be so horrible?”

The German pushes the hands back away from the stray’s face to show his scarred nose and lips, doubtless each one given to him from a fight. “A Pyro.”

His ragged ears perk up at the sound of his name. Misha looks baffled. 

“That is not a breed that any facilities I know of produce.”

“Because breeding them is illegal. They are bred to be fighting hybrids by underground, black market breeders. Nearly every single one is lacking color because of their heavy inbreeding. Their names implies how passionately they fight, like fire. They put horrible gasmasks on them when they fight so the battles last longer and become a test of strength rather than of blood. I have had the bad luck of putting together poor hybrids who were torn apart from being attacked by one of this breed. He is too aggressive to be a pet. Bring him in tomorrow and I can euthanize-”

“No!” Misha interrupts him.

“No? You understand having him is an incredible liability to you and your pet. If he got loose and got a hold of someone…”

Misha holds the stray-No the Pyro, his Pyro’s face in his hands and looks into those pink eyes. “I can fix him. I know I can. I’ll tame him.”

The German just looks at him, understanding the desire to help every broken beast that he can but also knowing that some are beyond repair. Finally he sighs, “You are too softhearted for your own good, my friend.” He crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back watching as the Russian begins cleaning the pyro in the soapy bath water.

“You will need a pyro mask with darkened lenses to protect his weak eyes. I’ll see if I can get something ordered for you. Once he is healthier he will need to be neutered, that will reduce his aggression by a good amount.” 

Misha lathers the flea shampoo over his unhappy Pyro’s body, “Thank you, Kuhlbert.” The bath water begins to turn a murky brown as Pyro is cleaned of the months of grime that had built up on him.

This morning the stray woke up in a pile of wet garbage but tonight he finds himself curled on a warm cotton bed made of soft material. For the first time in what feels like forever he sleeps deeply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank the people who left kudos and comments on this story. I appreciate each and everyone one I get. Without your encouragement these stories would just be mushy ideas left rotting in my head. If you liked these stories and you would like me to continue adding more to this collection please send me a kudo or something. Thank you.


	4. Damn Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scout gets a pony.

 “Aw gross, man! I gotta clean under his toenails?!” Scout’s appalled face gives away just how much research he had put into his new pet horse.

“Of course you do! He can’t do it himself, boy! You gotta get all the dirt and grit out from everywhere.” The short Texan replies.

Misha, the heavy Russian draft horse hybrid, stands there on his hands and knees as one furry back foot is held up and carefully cleaned by the man as he shows Master how to properly do it. He is pleased at least someone at this stable knows about proper hybrid care.

The older man had come over to the corral when he saw Scout get bucked off into the dirt while trying to ride on Misha’s back. The youth had the idiotic idea to ride the hybrid like a normal horse as if he did not seem to know that they are only for pulling small carts similar to rickshaws and not for actually riding on. Misha snorts and gives his shaggy mane a shake. The very idea!

After caring for his hands and feet the humans place rubber booties on his feet to protect them from the ground. “Nice and snug so they don’t come off by accident. Good, like that. Now about.. this.” Suddenly a rough, warm hand is on his genitalia and Scout makes a noise of pure disgust.

“Ah sick! Why are you grabbing his wiener-doodle like that, man?!”

“Son, how would you like it if you were naked and have your business jiggling about everywhere you walked? Moving through tall grass and surrounded by hard straps and metal?”

Scout cringes a little as he ponders the idea. “Yeah that.. that could be painful.”

 Engineer nods, “So that is why when working hybrids have to wear one of these.” With his free hand he holds up the leather sheath that can be strapped around Misha’s hips and cover his sensitive parts in a protective case. “This sheath is something he needs to wear every time he works and it needs to be cleaned out just like any other tack.”

The horse hybrid swishes his long tail and dances around as the try to fit the sheath on his sensitive flesh. With gentle words from both men and some petting he calms enough for them to put it on. “Alright, up up.” With the spoken command he rises up to two feet, looking eerily similar to the humans.

A small two wheeled cart is pulled out along with a heap of many leather straps and jingling bits.

Obediently Misha opens his mouth to allow the bit to pass between his teeth and the bridle to get snapped around his head. He holds his hands up by his chest in a naturally place but they get bound to his chest so that he can rest them on the straps if he gets tired of holding them in position.

 It takes some teamwork from them both but eventually they get him harnessed up to small cart by numerous shiny leather straps. A neat little red feather is placed in the bridle on his head to become the finishing touch.

“Alright now you can take him for a spin. Stay on the path, go slow, and don’t push him too hard.”

“Yeah okay, I’ve got this.” Scout grabs the end of the long reins and the thin whip to use as encouragement, then hops into the cart seat. He gives the reins an annoying crack that hurts Misha’s mouth when the metal bit bounces around against his teeth. “Giddyup, fatty.”

The hybrid jerks forward hard enough to throw Scout back into the seat with a cry of surprise. He glances back over his shoulder to see his Master looking snow pale and fumbling with the reins that he somehow already has tangled together.

 Behind them Engineer simply shakes his head and goes back to working in the stable.

Scout steers Heavy towards the path that will take them out in a pleasant ride through the forest, or it would have been pleasant with anyone else.

The young master kept urging Misha to pick up the pace but when his trot becomes too fast Scout jerks back on the reins to slow him to a walk, again. Only to ask him to trot a few minutes later. He didn’t even say ‘gee’ or ‘haw’ when turning and just tugged the reins hard which ever direction he wanted him to go.

Misha stomps a heavy foot on the ground in irritation. A blast of cool wind tosses his mane and tail about and he stops to lift his head up to sniff at it.

“Hey chubby, did I tell you to whoa? No! Keeping going!” Master punctuates the order with a loud tongue click.

Misha looks back at his Master with soulful eyes. Could he not tell there is rain on the way? The scent of wet dirt and the whisper of distant thunder should be clear even to Scout’s simple human senses. And yet he gives the reins a jerk and cracks the whip above Misha’s back. “Walk on!”

Obediently Misha starts forward against the straps, pulling the cart forward in a cautious walk. They don’t make it ten minutes before the trees about them start toiling about as the wind picks up.

Leaves, pine needles, and small twigs slap their faces and Misha is forced to bow his head down in order to keep going on.

Deep thunder rolls through the forest and early darkness settles around them.

 Master clutches the reins tight but does not allow Misha to stop when they get to an old abandoned barn in an overgrown clearing. It is old and not as it once was but it could shelter them during the storm. Instead Master seems to think they can make the stables before the storm hits.

Misha stubbornly stands by the old barn but the whip cracks on his back, no more than a slap, is enough to get him started back on the looping path that will take them home.

He can feel the bit in his mouth jiggling as Master is shivering in fright while holding onto the reins.

“Fuckin stupid storm. It was sunny when we left.” The wind begins to howl and larger dead branches are begin to fall in random bursts around them. Misha snorts in alarm as one nearly scrapes his shoulder on the way down.

There is a flash of blinding white all around them and then the loudest noise either of them have ever heard explodes around them. Misha tries to gallop surprise but one of the wheels of the cart is stuck on a fallen tree branch. He pulls but it will not come loose while somewhere behind him master yells incoherently into the wind.

 

Sudden fear floods over him as the thought of being trapped while a predator attacks comes over him. Danger! He must get free! He must or he will die!

Misha begins to truly panic as another flash followed by more deafening thunder roars around them, the first drops of rain stinging his face. He begins to kick the cart in panic and as nicely as it is made it is not enough to hold against the brute force of the heavy draft in a panic.  Straps snap apart and the polished wood of the cart shatters into pieces. Master seems to have fled somewhere.

Finally free with only a few straps dangling off of his body Misha bursts off into the dark forest. His breath streams out into the chill air as he wildly runs without direction with bushes and low limbs slapping at his exposed skin. One of his booties comes off and is lost in the rain.

He loses all track of time while in the storm.

The forest is a wet unrecognizable mess all around him.

Eventually he slows to a stop under a monstrous oak tree as the worst of the storm passes so that only chilly rain that falls from the black sky is left behind.

It’s cold. He’s hurt and hungry and wants to go home.

Somewhere behind the wind he hears a thin voice calling out.

Misha shakes his sopping wet mane and lowers his head as drops run down his nose. His bridle had been torn off at some point and so far only a few chest and shoulder straps remain. His right foot hurts from the lack of bootie and his knees feel swollen.

The voice calls out again, softer than before. Something clicks inside Misha’s head.

Master.

It’s too wet to smell him so Misha slowly plods towards the sound of the voice. His feet slip a little on the wet leaves. He walks towards a large crack in the ground where a creek has carved its way through the landscape.

The ravine is not too deep but the sides are too steep for him to easily walk up or down. Instead he bunches his legs up then leaps forwards, springing over the crack and landing gracelessly on his belly on the other side. He tugs on his hands, the only parts still strapped down at his chest. With some squirming around he is able to get back on two feet.

He hears Master’s voice again, this time behind him. Louder. Misha walks along the side of the ravine and then he sees him, Master laying in a crumbled heap of muddy clothes at the bottom. The creek water laps around him as it steadily rises from the rainfall. He does not seem to see Misha above him.

“Help! Please… somebody …anybody..” Scout calls pitifully into the rainy night as the water rises around. His broken legs not allowing him to go anywhere. He had taken off when his hybrid freaked out and attacked the cart. The way the ravine is positioned and the darkness of the night had made it impossible to see until he was falling down into it. His legs had snapped on impact.

Misha paces the side then finds a place where there is enough of an incline he starts slipping down, spilling small pebbles as he goes. The water is ice cold on his legs and the soft muddy bottom wants to grab him and hold him in place. By the time he reaches Master the thin human is clinging to an exposed root on the wall with both hands and struggling to pull his head above water.

The hybrid lowers his head and nudges Scout’s shoulder. Scout yells in joy and reaches out an arm towards him. It takes a few tries but he is able to grab on to the sturdy leather back straps that still wrap around Misha. He clings to the straps with his hands, his slight weight feeling feather light to the hybrid.

“Go, boy. Come on, walk. Please!” Misha tries to turn back the way he came but the rising water has become stronger and pushes back at him.

“You can do it. I see the way out over there. Go there, Misha. Good boy!” Scout encourages him as he pushes with his entire weight against the water towards the incline. There are no other paths out, the walls are cliffs all around them.

“Come boy you can-!” Master’s cheer is cut off when Misha slips and they both plunge underwater. The icy liquid rushes into Misha’s nostrils and mouth, the darkness making him blind under the surface. His lungs burn despite the chilly liquid filling them. The disorientation sends a fresh wave of panic though him and kicks his legs desperately against the rushing current that tries to pin him to the creek bottom.

He feels his feet toes back on the muddy bottom and kicks off it. It was already deeper than when he had gone it from the runoff.

 All at once his head bursts back into the night air.

Behind him sputtering and coughing is Master, still clinging to his back like a spider monkey. Misha coughs out water that had filled his lungs but now with the gravel of the steep incline beneath his feet he feels a surge of strength.

The air around them seems warm in comparison to the icy water but the wind that blows chases away any warmth they might have had. Master shivers on his back but does not help as Misha pulls him up the ravine wall then out onto solid ground.

Misha feels his legs shivering from exhaustion as he stands there, the small human hanging on around his neck, now. Both of them huffing out clouds of steam.

 

* * *

 

Engineer comes running out of the stable to meet them. Despite the late hour the lights had been left on and it stands like an island of light amid the dark fields around them.

“Boy, I’ve been worried sick about ya! A tornado came through and just passed right over where you were going. What..” He stops when he sees the broken legs dangling painfully behind Scout, who still clings to the last remaining straps on the hybrid.

“Look fucked up real bad, Dell. I.. I think my legs are broken, I-I can’t..  they hurt so bad.” His voice cracks as he finishes speaking. Slowly he lets go of the hybrid to allow Engineer to hold him.  

“God in heaven, what happened to ya.” The Texan whispers and is already carrying Scout towards his truck.

“I’ll tell you later. Just please make sure my horse gets taken care of. He’s a good boy. ”

Misha makes his way into the warm stable where the other horses and hybrids have already been fed and gone to bed. His stall door has been left partially open enough for him to squeeze in after a couple tries. The plus, clean hay is heaven on his weary feet.

He takes a mouthful of sweet oats from his feeder then lays down on the bedding, asleep in moments.

“He’s a good boy.”

 

                              

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been wanting to do a pony play chapter for awhile and I am glad I could get this one done. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> If you care to see these characters in more adult situations you can check out my other fanfiction called 'Mating Season'.
> 
> Thank you to all kudo and comment leavers!

**Author's Note:**

> I had fun with this. If people like this well enough I might write more chapters to it.


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